Finally Free
by Roxy Black
Summary: Blaine should never have gone to the Sadie Hawkins dance, but every cloud has a silver lining.


_This one-shot was written using the fantastic bethmai's idea of what happened to Blaine at the Sadie Hawkins dance as a prompt. Her original response can be found on her tumblr (bethmai dot tumblr dot com) I just fleshed it out a little._

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><p>It was Friday night.<p>

His right eye was swollen, his lip cut and he was fairly sure his arm was broken.

All he could see above him were a couple of stars, twinkling down at him beautifully through the terror in his heart.

Sound was slowly returning to him, the bass of the music from the school hall breaking the ringing silence that had been his refuge since it started. He didn't know how much time had passed, but the song currently playing did not match his memory of that they had been humming just before…

He closed his left eye again, steeling himself to look around. He turned his head painfully and opened the eye. The other boy was also on the ground. He wasn't moving.

He pulled himself forward, shaking the boy's shoulder, waking him, lifting him up and falling back at the obvious pain that pierced his date's chest.

"Can you sit up?" were the first words he found himself saying. Adam nodded and tentatively raised himself, trying to bend as little as possible and steadying himself against the wall.

Behind him, he heard a door open, the hall music growing louder for a moment until the door closed once more. He didn't look round, too worried by the blood pouring from the nose of the boy in front of him. He heard a voice, heard his name, and looked around.

A girl was standing above him, fear and shock in her face, taking in the scene and placing a hand on his shoulder.

His eye closed again and the silence returned.

It was Saturday morning.

He could tell from the light pouring in through the window, illuminating the too-white room. His parents were at the foot of his bed and he could see his mother had been crying. He winced as he attempted to sit up, tensing the muscle in his arm that was most definitely broken and now wrapped stiffly in a plaster cast.

"Mom?"

She looked up and hastily wiped at her eyes.

"You're okay. A broken arm and cuts and bruises but nothing worse." She had obviously caught his questioning tone and attempted to answer his thoughts but he was the one who had been attacked, he knew his injuries because he felt them, what he didn't know was the state of his date.

"That's good I guess, how's…"

"Your friend has a broken rib. His parents have taken him home already."

His father had spoken too quickly, obviously uncomfortable and placing an awkward emphasis on the word friend. Blaine was too tired to argue right now and let the topic drop. Adam was safe, the attack could have been worse. He would find out more on Monday at school, away from the insecurities of his father.

His parents were looking at each other, having a conversation without words. He knew he should be questioning them, finding out what they were thinking, but his mind was clouding over again and he felt himself returning to sleep.

It was Monday morning when he was discharged from hospital. The doctors were happy that his facial injuries were not as severe as they had first feared and he was no longer in danger of a possible concussion. He thanked the nurses who had cared for him and followed his parents silently.

They still hadn't broached the subject of the cause of the attack, not comfortable enough to take sides on the sexuality debate despite their pain at their son's injuries. His mind raced at what his father was thinking. Did he not mention what had happened because he agreed with what the boys had done? Did he wonder if the boys had successfully beaten the gay out of him? Or was it something else? Was he afraid that Blaine had caused it? That he had been flaunting his shameful acts for the world to see or had been coming on to some guy who had said no with his fists?

He couldn't raise the subject himself. He wouldn't force his shame on his dad. He'd sit and wait for his father to accept him and simply avoid doing anything that could cause this much pain again. He already sat quietly in class, he kept his head down and tried to fit in. He had tried to follow his father's wishes and he was quite pleased with the car they had fixed, but he knew he couldn't change who he was even if his father didn't approve. He would simply try not to broadcast his sexuality while his father was around.

He would have to wait to talk to Adam. Their date hadn't even been that great, more a partnership of ease and investigation than one of actual attraction. They were both gay on a night that was traditionally celebrated with couples. It had seemed like a good deal to find out what being a couple was like with someone who was also gay. It was like searching for compatible matches in a pool of a single person. They had tried to be subtle, aware of the taunting that being out had already caused. They hadn't danced, hadn't held hands, hadn't done anything traditionally coupley, they hadn't really wanted to. They were happy to just hang out and chat but the simple fact that they had been sat beside each other had been enough to antagonise the bullies. They had left the building early, aware that the slow songs would probably start soon and things might have gotten uncomfortable. They had sat on the wall beside the road, waiting for Adam's father to pick them up, thinking themselves alone until Blaine had felt the hand on his neck pulling him backwards off the wall and to the floor. The rest was a blur and he was happy he didn't remember. The footprint on his chest was evidence enough.

He sat on the sofa, running through what he would say to Adam when he saw him, running through his apology and his admission of how stupid he had been to think they could have a normal date like the other kids.

He wasn't paying attention when his mother sat beside him, when his father sat on a stool at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, still on the periphery of the conversation but not comfortable enough to be fully involved.

He came back to himself when he saw his mother place a brochure on the table in front of him.

"Blaine, this is Dalton Academy." She opened the brochure and a beautiful building shone out from the glossy pages. "They have a zero tolerance policy on bullying and we've decided that we're going to enrol you there. We'd looked at a few schools after the incident your father saw a few weeks ago and this seems like the best one we've found so far. We've already spoken to the principal and explained your situation. He's got an individual dorm room for you so you won't have to share a room or anything like that, and they've got a good music program which we thought you'd like."

He didn't know what to say. His mother was still talking, describing the school and the various things he could get involved with. He knew this was a kind action, that they were trying to protect him, that they were trying to stop him from being hurt again, and he was truly relieved to escape the constant taunts and threats. Yet in his heart he felt a pang of rejection. They were sending him to a boarding school, sending him away. He looked up at his father and saw conflict in his face as if he knew Blaine would be feeling this, as if he knew his mother hadn't explained properly; that this change could be seen in two ways.

Their eyes found each other and Blaine saw his father blink and nod his head slowly, a gesture of reassurance. It was the closest thing to acceptance that Blaine had seen his father offer and he felt the fear leave him as easily as his next exhaling breath, replaced only with a sadness that his father couldn't put a similar sentiment into words.

"When?" he asked, turning back to his mother.

"Tomorrow," she said, blinking in surprise. "You'll start tomorrow. We've already bought your new uniform, I'll lay it out on your bed so you can try it on. Let me know if you need help" She patted his knee, aware that a hug might hurt his broken arm, and left him with the brochure, the glossy-pictured guide to his new life.

It took him a week to get over the awe that he felt whenever he spotted the vaulted ceilings of the academy halls, the portraits on the walls or the marble that seemed to adorn everything whether it needed to or not. He sat quietly at the back of classes, trying to avoid the questioning looks of his classmates who were obviously intrigued by the sudden appearance of the battered and bruised boy with his arm in a sling and a split lip that prevented him from even attempting a shy smile. He half wondered if they thought he was some kind of a delinquent, he certainly didn't look like himself with his black eye and the sling made his blazer sit on his shoulder oddly, like he was purposely rebelling against the obvious smartness of the school. He wasn't sure if people were avoiding him out of embarrassed respect or fear, and he wasn't sure which one he'd prefer. He had spoken to the boys in his corridor and hoped he had given a good first impression, but he still didn't feel he'd found his place in the school. Adam had never responded to his texts of apology. His few friends from home had promised to call him at weekends but never had. Blaine could feel himself becoming more withdrawn but simply didn't know what to do.

It took him another fortnight to book the music room during a free period. His lip had healed enough that he felt he could sing again and he needed to lose himself in the music, he needed to get rid of the loneliness he had started to feel. He had booked the room during the day in the hopes that most of the student body would be in classes so he could sing alone without fear of being overheard. His love of singing had been a point of contention in his old school and he still hadn't pushed anything to test the bullying policy at Dalton. He closed the door behind him and placed his mp3 in the dock. Sitting in a chair he closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, releasing the tension that had built up and losing himself in the white space of the song. The track changed and he smiled, the opening notes of Hey Soul Sister playing out as he started to sing along. He liked this song, it had only just come out but he could tell it would be around for a while. There was a simplicity to it, a vocal focus that was within his range and that he could sing comfortably with his eyes closed, grounded to the chair and putting everything into his voice.

He didn't realise the door had opened until the song came to an end and he heard a small embarrassed cough behind him. He jumped up in surprise and ran to his music, stopping it hurriedly and apologising despite himself.

"Your name's Blaine right?" the boy in the doorway said.

Blaine froze on the spot, nodded uncomfortably and wondered what this stranger had heard if he knew his name. This was a high school after all, despite its pretensions he was certain gossip was as prevalent as any other school would be, and if a kid had shown up covered in bruises at his old school, they would have been target number one for the resident snoops to research.

"Nice to meet you," the boy held out his hand. "I'm Wes, I'm in the year above you. You've got a great voice you know."

Blaine blinked at the compliment and realised the boy still had his hand outstretched. He took it tentatively and mumbled his thanks.

"No problem. You should come to Warbler practice this evening. We could use a strong voice like yours in our group."

"Warbler?" Blaine asked, he had seen the word on photos in the trophy cabinet in the room.

"Yeah, it's the name of our glee club, The Warblers. We're an acapella group. I know it doesn't sound that cool but we're actually quite good." Wes was smiling warmly and had no hint of malice in his eyes. He seemed to notice Blaine's discomfort and looked down as he said, "listen I've um… well I've heard a bit about why you've transferred and I promise you that I'm not trying to trick you here. Honestly, you've got one of the best voices I've heard in a long time and I really do think you'd enjoy it. The Warblers are actually considered quite cool and if you're worried about… well, if you're worried about people accepting who you really are, you don't need to. Dalton may appear ancient but we're actually very progressive in our attitude. We couldn't care less about whether you're gay, straight, black, white, ewok, klingon, house elf or alien. We just care about the music and about people who can express themselves through voice. Please stop me if I'm speaking out of turn, I'm basing this speech on rumours after all and probably should have checked with you first but… umm… yeah."

His ramble faded with an awkward rub of the back of his neck and his face coloured. Blaine didn't know what to say. Here he was, standing in a room he had thought would be his refuge with a strange boy standing in front of him telling him more comforting and accepting words than he had ever heard in his life.

"I'll be there" he heard himself saying, surprised at how calm his voice sounded despite the welling emotion in his heart. Wes looked up and smiled so warmly that Blaine couldn't help but grin back.

"Well great, I'll see you later then. Practice starts in here at seven." He clapped Blaine on the shoulder as he turned and walked out and Blaine just stood and watched as he walked away.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a tear trace down his cheek. His bruises and broken limbs were forgotten, his worries and fears had been left miles away in a different school, his music sat paused in its dock on the piano, and his heart felt light for the first time in forever, like the stranger boy in the ancient school had given him permission to finally spread his wings.


End file.
